Masks
by Lord Machiavelli's Understudy
Summary: Aizen's zanpakutou always wore a mask...


**Disclaimer**: I do not own Bleach.

Kyoka Suigetsu wore a mask. Every time Aizen saw her she wore a different one. It was a rarity when he saw her wearing the same one twice. Some were simple white faces, with smiles or frowns painted on. Others were traditional, like the set of Noh masks that she rotated around for a period of three years, before tiring of them and not wearing anything similar to them for a century or so. Some were very realistic, looking like real faces until you realize that they could not move, or saw the hair-thin crack by the jawline. Others were fantastical creations that could only be imagined, often with a slightly warped imagination.

The masks were what you remembered about her. Her kimono were plain, somber affairs. She was in every way average. Average height, average voice, average bodytype. For all the pride in her bearing, if you placed her next to almost any other zapakutou she would be quickly overshadowed. She was human in form and nature, not some fantastical creature. She wasn't even an exotic human. Just herself. There was once a time when he was terribly disappointed by that, before he had learned more about her, and about himself.

Upon first seeing her, he had asked to see her face. She had responded, sounding very amused, _**Which face?**_ He, young as he was, did not understand, but knew that he would never see her without a mask on.

She had wanted proof of his power. She had wanted to know what his ambitions were. He had told her, honest about it for once. "I want to rule, more powerful than anyone else." She had nodded approvingly, before continuing with her test. He had won, and the woman had acknowledged that he was powerful enough to suit her.

His mental world was made of mirrors. One big one stretched high above their heads, reflecting the world with a perfectly terrible accuracy. He disliked that sky, for reasons he was never quite sure of. The ground was also made of a mirror, although one much more changeable. The first few times he was there, he came from meditation. He assumed that the ground was another perfectly flat mirror, just like the sky above. It was not until he sought Kyoka's help when upset that he realized that it was a sea. When calm, it was flat. As he got more emotional, the sea raged, throwing up towering waves of silver glass, which distorted the reflections beyond recognition.

He wondered what Kyoka Suigetsu felt about the mirrors. At first he had assumed that she was the slightest bit vain (not the worst character flaw for a blade or a shinigami), but upon seeing some of the horrifically warped reflections that were much more common in those waves, he realized that no vain creature would tolerate it. There was one image that stuck with him for centuries. She was wearing a human looking mask, the painted face the image of friendliness and geniality. Behind her (reflected off of two other mirrors to be right behind her shoulder) was the very image of a demon. The smile had twisted into a sharp toothed snarl, the eyes were the threatening glare of a predator, the face was just enough off in proportions (in an entirely different way than the normal frozen expression, which was beautiful) to seriously creep the young Shinigami out.

She had as many masks, as many faces, as there were stars in the sky. He was certain that there was some significance in her choices of masks.

The first time he had seen her, she had been wearing a bone white mask, with a smiling, welcoming face painted with a few simple, clean black lines. That, and similar ones, meant friendliness, compassion. She was most talkative like that, and on some level, that was what he thought of as her real face, despite the fact that they were her least common look.

Noh masks meant that she was being serious, or was sad. He saw them when he was passed over for promotion (if he was brutally honest, he wasn't really passed over, seeing as he was only a month out of the Academy, and the other was an experienced veteran) and for that long stretch of time when it seemed that not even his power could advance him in society. However, they were also the masks she used when he was wondering what he would do with Momo, so maybe that category wasn't accurate.

Human looking masks, the set that looked so much like real faces or very close to it were the default. When wearing those, she was likely to talk about his potential, and how there was no reason that someone of their power should be held back by the Sereitai's foolish laws and foolish leaders. She whispered at odd times about how easy it would be to take the power, to usurp the sou-taicho, to remake the Society in any image that he saw fit.

_**We can be powerful. We could be the most powerful of all. Just think about it, Sousuke.**_ _**Think of the glory!**_

Fantastical creations, dyed and feathered and beaded were more difficult to read, but seemed to mean happiness or triumph. There was one that he saw the evening after he had become a captain, a stupendous creation that could never exist in real life. He can no longer recall exactly what it looked like, but remembered that he had been distracted from his savage happiness at the wonder it had inspired in him.

Metal masks, especially silver, were plotting masks. Someone would get on his bad side, and he would go to her to plot their downfall. He would detail his ideas out to her, as a sounding board. Her contributions were always an urge to patience. _**Wait until the moment is exactly right. It will be sweeter for the wait.**_

He remembers one mask in specific, a black one, silk and velvet beaded with jet, because he knew that it meant anger. He saw it twice. For a lesser shinigami the zanpakutou's anger would lead to the blade denying their power, but Kyoka Suigetsu was too aware of their power, and too proud of it too deliberately lessen it in any way. So she contented herself with stony silences. Both times she refused to talk to him, saying just one thing before staying silent for a long period of time.

_**I do not kneel for anything. Neither should you.**_ This came after he had just made lieutenant, after the utter humiliation that his wildly grinning captain had forced him into. She only started responding when he outlined his plan for revenge, months later. Revenge that increased his rank and worldly power, doubly sweet to the both of them.

That anger made sense to him. His rage at his own actions, forced by the captain, had boiled so hot he was sure everyone present much have seen through his persona. The second anger, made no sense to him.

_**Tobiume was nothing but loyal. **_He had stared at her, amazed that she was upset about Momo, of all things. "Our plan has succeeded, and this is what you think about?"

_**It was unnecessary. It almost ruined the plan.**_ She was refusing to look at him, focusing on a space behind his left shoulder.

"It was compassion. She will die without us."

_**She was not yet broken, and now I doubt that she will be**_. That was all until he had forced her cooperation with the Hogyoku, a week later when he got tired of dealing with her sulks.

After that, the blade began to wear a mask made of mirror. He did not care what that meant, but assumed it was something to do with satisfaction, until one day he had come to talk about the Espada. He had been setting them against each other, using their own instincts and his 'capricious' favor to weed out the weak. She remained silent while he was explaining his plan, which was not an uncommon event, until she had asked him a question.

_**We wanted power, to rule. I should have asked what we wanted it for. **_She was looking straight at him, very intent. He realized that she had meant that as a question, for some reason.

"Its power, what other reason do I need," he said dismissively, before going on to explain how the human girl was playing into his hands.

The last time he saw her, she was wearing a bone white mask, with the smallest hints of features in the shadows it cast, and nothing else. The world, that endless sea of mirrors, had been shattered by the looping darkness that impregnated the area. She was on her hands and knees, the shards cutting deep, until they were red with her blood. She begged him to let go of the Hogyoku. She said (a remnant of her pride here) that surely her power was enough to take out the Sereitai, that they didn't need the stone. He was implacably calm, pointing out that they could not challenge the King without the power the Hogyoku provided.

_**Then maybe we shouldn't be doing it.**_ She said it quietly, but with desperation. This piece of defiance from the blade was an affront to Aizen. He looked down at her, groveling before him, the Hogyoku's influence coiling around her feet like tentacles.

He answered her affably. "Weren't you the one who pointed out that we were powerful? Should we go back to pretending to be less than we are? This is a change of tune, dear."

_**That was our power, not this…thing's. It has no soul. Besides, **_she looked down, looking smaller than he had ever seen her. _**This isn't what we wanted power for.**_

"Do you presume to speak for me now?" Aizen was not amused. He studied her, for the first time in years. She was smaller than he had ever thought of her, cuts on her hands and knees. She looked wan and starved, and the shadows thrown by the Hogyoku dappled her skin like bruises. Only the white mask looked healthy. The mask…

Seeing it, he was gripped by his old desire to take it off. Reaching down, he placed a gentle hand below her chin, raising her unresisting body up in with a mocking gentleness. "I thought that you were a part of me. _I do not kneel for anything_." The last was a mockery of something that she had told him many times before. She flinched.

Aizen continued to examine her. The bone mask had no fastener, no ribbon or hairpins like some of Kyoka's masks. It hugged her forehead, dropping over her eyes and cheekbones, as close as a white paint. There was no mouth on this one, and the bottom half of the mask was featureless, until it hit her jaw, where it cut off sharply. He slipped his hand around her neck, thumb creeping under the mask in that channel behind the jawbone and below the ear.

"I have always wondered what you actually looked like. I think it would be a good punishment for me to take a look." He placed his other hand directly across her face, preparing to lift it off.

The reaction that he got from the sword was extremely gratifying. She whimpered _**No, please Sousuke. I'm sorry just don't…**_ After drinking his fill of her terror, after only a few words, he ignored her babble.

His fingers found a purchase behind her forehead, and he pulled off the mask very slowly, enjoying this moment.

He was disappointed. Kyoka Suigetsu's face was as unremarkable as any other part of her, even screwed up in pain and terror. He watched impassively as she began to crumble, dying. When even the ashes she had left behind were gone, he turned to the writhing shadows of the Hogyoku and said, "She was not worthy of me. Prove more capable."

It was unable to answer, unlike the dead woman.


End file.
